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Then, in the richest golden color, her ability winds around his arm like a vine until the wound is wholly encased. The brilliant light intensifies as Maeva focuses. Considering his arm hasn’t turned into ash, I’m certain that her ability is actually working to heal this time.

“You’re doing so well, Rosey,” I whisper .

After another moment, the starlight unwinds, crawling back into Maeva’s palms before dissipating.

The rest of the Cadre and I walk over to look at Virgil’s arm and see that the gash is now sealed.

There isn’t even a scar in the place where there should have been one.

Riordan hollers in victory, and Laisren claps Virgil’s back with enthusiasm.

“Rosey, you did it,” I say. Smiling, I turn to congratulate her—hoping that she’s proud of herself.

But, the scene before me isn’t one of celebration.

My Rosey is lying on the ground, curling into herself. Her entire body trembles violently as her breathing becomes unsteady. “Maeva!” I shout, rushing to her side. I pick up one of her shaking hands, but she brushes me off. I try again, and she shakes her head.

“No,” she sobs.

The rest of the Cadre comes to her aid, but she continues to shake, saying, “No.”

“Rosey, what can I do?” I ask, concerned. Perhaps something went wrong, and it healed Virgil, but hurt her instead. I look for any signs of decay or bodily injury, but there isn’t one blemish.

Her quiet sobs turn into wails of agony. “I-I could’ve—” she stammers. She covers her mouth with one hand as the other digs into the ground beneath her.

“What’s wrong with her?” Riordan asks.

“I don’t know,” I reply.

She could’ve what?

Hurt him.

True, but she didn’t.

I didn’t expect her to respond like this. This is my fault.

I shouldn’t have encouraged her.

Virgil kneels before Maeva, running a hand through her hair. “Little Star, it’s okay,” Virgil coos. However, even his placating tone isn’t helping to calm her down.

“I could’ve saved them,” she finally whimpers. “I could’ve saved them. I could’ve saved them.” She says it over and over again like a chant, as she continues to rock her body. A dark cloud of sadness settles over our group as our Rosey grieves, unsure how to help.

Virgil’s glassy eyes lock onto mine. “Perhaps you should take her back to her chambers,” he says. “I believe she’s in shock.”

“I agree,” I reply. I wrap my arms under her body, but she pushes away from me, grabbing Virgil’s hand—chanting the same sentence over and over again.

Virgil strokes her head, as if he’s consoling a small child. “Shh now, Little Star,” he whispers. “Everything’s okay. You can rest now.”

Something catches in my throat, but I quickly clear it away.

I’m not the one she needs right now—even if that’s exactly who I want to be.

“Get her out of here,” I command. For the first time, there’s a slight hesitation in my fourth commander’s movements.

He looks at me, as if needing reassurance that this is truly what I need for him to do.

I begrudgingly nod my head. “Get her out of here,” I say softly.

“Yes, High General,” he replies. Carefully, he picks up Maeva, cradling her distressed body to his chest. Though she continues to shake, she nuzzles into him and sighs deeply.

“I’ll come by later to check on her once she’s settled,” I say.

Virgil nods, walking away with my Rosey in his arms.

“I could’ve saved them, Virgil,” she mumbles, as if she were half-asleep.

“Rest, Little Star,” his low voice murmurs as they exit the courtyard. “You’re safe.”

Once they disappear back through the misty maze, I dismiss Laisren and Riordan before sitting down next to the spot where Maeva stood minutes ago.

I drag my hands through my hair, looking around the courtyard in which we once were welcomed as guests of the Malvorian king and queen.

It feels strange to train in a place that was once so vibrant, and now feels like a cemetery.

But after Maeva reduced the withered plants to ash in other courtyards on the property, this was the last option… and she succeeded here .

She actually healed Virgil’s arm, but it came at the price of her sorrow.

As I stare at the damp spot caused by her tears, I can’t fathom forgiving myself for today anytime soon.

Her tears fell along a large crack in the cobblestone, where a bit of earth peaks out.

The spot is now stained with small droplets, forming a puddle.

A tendril of my shadow grazes over the spot.

I couldn’t stop her tears from falling, nor could I take away her pain—though I would’ve gladly done so.

She must miss them so terribly—her adopted family.

I’m sure if she remembered her biological family, she’d miss them as well.

She’s in anguish because of my father’s treachery.

The longer I stare, the more fractures form in my heart as her words continue to echo in my mind. I allow myself a moment to linger until it’s time to go to my chambers to wash up.

As I stand to leave, something brushes against my leg. Looking down, I find a small cluster of Black Dahlias sprouting from the damp earth.

So, my theory was right, I suppose.

I lean down, plucking one of the flowers and twirl its stem in my fingers. The delicate petals shimmer, as if they themselves were imbued with starlight.

It’s a beautiful thing, isn’t it? The girl’s voice resurfaces as I examine the extraordinary work of Maeva’s ability.

It is , I think in response as if she can hear me, but what a heavy price to pay for such beauty.

Then I release the flower, allowing it to drift back to the ground.

As I exit the courtyard, I trap that girl’s voice back behind the mental barriers where I left her years ago, so she can no longer haunt me.

She’s gone and has been gone for a long time.

Sighing, I force the emotions I experienced at Maeva’s rejection behind that barrier as well.

I know she’s in shock, and clung to who made her feel the most comfortable—the most safe—but I wish it’d been me.

However, it wasn’t? —

I wasn’t .

It’ll never be me, and I think I’ve known that from the beginning.

Now, I recognize it.

I’m the High General—weapon of Zulgalros and feared throughout Celestae…

And a wraith will never deserve such beauty.